


Tea with Jam

by Jennifer-Oksana (JenniferOksana)



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Conversations, F/M, Food, Het, Romance Novel, Season/Series 03, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-12
Updated: 2016-03-12
Packaged: 2018-05-26 08:53:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6232303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JenniferOksana/pseuds/Jennifer-Oksana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things she likes whether or not they're progressive, good for her, or empowering.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tea with Jam

It started with a needling post-dinner conversation about Laura being a little bit of an anhedonist. A little too selfless, a little too good.

"Have you ever had a selfish thought in your life?" Tom asked after she'd refused a second glass of wine. "It's always the people this, the cause that...haven't you done anything for you? Things that you just like because you like them, because they're pleasant?"

"No," Laura said without missing a beat. "I even choose what foods I like by the latest news reports and group trends. Nothing I do is at all driven by the pitiful human ego, and that's why I always win."

Tom laughed a little, but paused significantly. "Then tell me three things," he said. "That you like whether or not they're progressive, good for you, or empowering."

"Mystery novels, tea sweetened with blackberry jam, and..." Laura Roslin smiled. "I'm not telling you the last one. Pedicures. So that's at least four things."

"Whatever 'it' is, by the way, I do it really well," Tom said, deadpan. "All of my one-night stand groupies I got conjugal visits with said so."

"You had groupies?" asked Laura, looking a tiny bit appalled at that idea.

"Of course," Tom answered. They both chuckled again, and Laura cupped the weak tea she was drinking with both hands, looking faraway and slightly dreamy. "Tea sweetened with jam. That's a very mild pleasure, Madam President."

"What about you, then? What are three things you like just because you do?" Laura said snappishly.

"A really dry gin martini, licking the inside of a woman's thigh just above the knee, and romance novels," he answered in the same rapid-fire manner that Laura had been dishing to him all night.

"Romance novels? Seriously?" Laura asked.

"The more sentimental the better," Tom said, unashamed and shrugging. "You wouldn't believe how easy it is to get a romance novel written and published under a fake name."

Laura stared at him. "Oh my gods, you were writing romance novels in prison," she said. "Do any of your fans know?"

"I don't know," Tom said. "Which sorts of fan? Fans of Tom Zarek, freedom-fighter and prisoner of conscience, or fans of Zara Thomason, author of such classics as _Bitter Heart, Dark Harvest_ and _Love's Clarion Call?_ "

"Either. Both... _Love's Clarion Call_? That was an awful book. All my junior staffers loved it because of the details of the poverty on Sagittaron, but the love scenes were awful and the male lead was so thin you could have hung clothes on him," Laura said.

"I got more letters about the true-to-life emotions of the sex scene next to the mill...yes, really, by the way...than any other letter topic I ever got. Including that I was an awful terrorist who should frakking die," Tom said.

"Well, I argue with the masses," Laura said humorously. "Who knew? And I suppose if we ever tried anything, Zara Thomason will recap it in something like... _The Presidential Lover_."

" _Destiny's Journey,_ " Tom said, smiling outrageously. "A strong, mysterious woman who escaped with the rest of the Colonials, losing her husband...a high ranking diplomat...and her four devoted children, only to find love with a roguish prisoner."

Laura Roslin closed her eyes. "Four devoted children?"

"Maybe one survives," Tom said without blinking an eye. "You wouldn't believe the kinds of reality-straining plot devices that earn the most adulation. Though you're a politician, I suppose you might know at that. The mother tragically dead of cancer, the secret affliction Destiny -- the heroine is named Destiny--"

"Of course," Laura said, shaking her head.

"The secret affliction Destiny keeps from her lover, Mike Malloy. He has to earn her trust, but she'll never tell her secrets, which threaten to separate them when Malloy's rival..."

"The aristocratic but cold Commander Marshall, imprisons Mike for a crime that he may not have truly committed, wooing Destiny with power and wealth," Laura finished. "Of course, Marshall's estranged son clears Mike, and Destiny and Mike get together, much to Bill's chagrin."

Tom laughed and laughed. "It'll be the first bestseller on Earth," he said.

"Mmm," Laura said, standing up. "Except I like the story better when it goes like this."

To Tom's genuine surprise, Laura crossed the room in two steps and straddled him, sitting in his lap and meeting his eyes.

"Destiny's not looking for the one right man," she murmured, her hair falling against his face, ticklish. "Her secrets are less about an aura of mystery and more about learning discretion as the cost of power."

Laura ground against him with abandon and skill, and yet nothing besides that part of them was even touching. Not so much as their foreheads. Something in her look told Tom not to touch. Yet.

"You gonna tell me some secrets?" Tom asked. "I told you my big one -- big scary Tom Zarek writes romance novels. What about Laura Roslin? Who's she when she's not polite, selfless, and in control? Are you gonna tell me she's a predatory nymphomaniac?"

"Sometimes, men can be so very typical," Laura said softly, sighing. "Either frigid virgin or uncontrolled slut who'll go after anything with a dick. I choose my lovers, Mr. Zarek. For as long as I want them, the way that I want them. And if there's no one I want, I don't need a filled bed to be fulfilled."

"What do you want me for?" Tom asked. "An audience? A meaningless frak?"

"Someone who makes me laugh," Laura murmured, her lips suddenly moving trembling close to Tom's ear. "Something I enjoy just because I enjoy it."

Tom's hands suddenly gripped the woman before him, his hands resting on the curve of her sides as she continued to move against him carelessly.

"Tell me the thing that came to your mind after tea with jam," he growled against her neck, flicking it with his tongue and watching a shiver spread over her body.

"No," she answered, eyes heavy-lidded and half-closed with obvious pleasure. "You don't want to know for any good reason. Just because you could do it to me."

"I'd like to do things to you," Tom said, sliding one hand over her hip. "I think that we'd both enjoy the doing."

"What kind of things, Mr. Romance Novelist?" Laura asked coyly, her hair falling heavily to one side as she tilted her head and licked her lips. "I want to hear what Zara Thomason wants to do to me. It's kind of a retroactive honor."

"I want to make you tea with jam," Tom said, one hand gripping her hip deeply while the other moved up and stroked her cheek once. Boyishly, as if he were afraid she'd run away. "Except that I want us to be wearing much less clothing. In fact, I think you don't look good in clothing, Laura."

"I see. So I'm drinking a cup of tea with jam and bread naked. Lovely," she teased, her teeth running over her lower lip.

"We have jam, and there's a bit in the corner of your mouth, so I take care of it like so..." Tom said, licking at her face before kissing Laura long and deep. "And then I decide I like the taste of jam and Laura."

"Of course," she said, but her rhythm had sped up, and one of her hands had snaked into his hair, keeping them close.

"It tastes especially good when you're watching me lick it off your stomach," Tom said, fumbling for a button or zipper on her trousers. "And then of course, you know how nice your legs are."

"Nice?" Laura asked, faking outrage.

"You've got 'em and you flaunt 'em," Tom said. "And I wouldn't need any jam for those. Those I want to bite and suck without anything obscuring the taste."

"You want to taste me," she said, but it wasn't a taunt. In fact, Laura sounded grudgingly aroused by the idea of being tasted.

"I've wanted a taste of you since you kissed me the first time, Madam President," he said, his hips moving up to meet hers. He was definitely hard, and her breath caught a little. "I want to get more than a taste. I want to eat you up, until your legs are wrapped around my head and you're gasping out commands in that bitchy little tone of yours."

"Yeah?" she asked, false bravado and ragged desire.

"Yeah," he replied, pressing his mouth to her throat and sucking. Laura shuddered, pulling her body harder against his, trying to get more of him against her.

"Do it," Laura whispered. "Just like you said. Do it."

"Is that an order?" Tom asked, looking up at her with calculating eyes, taking in the glitter in her eye and the flush on her cheek.

"Yes," Laura said, angling down against his trapped dick and moving up and down. "And it's one you want to carry out, isn't it, Mr. Vice President?"

"Gods, yes," Tom said. "I want to serve the pleasure of my leader until you frakking scream."

"And I want you to serve me," Laura said, putting her arms around his neck. "As fully as you want, Tom."

"Good to hear you admit it, Laura," he said, putting his arms under her thighs and standing them up as she wrapped her legs around his waist and held on for the three steps it took to reach the presidential bed. "Unbutton your blouse."

She did, button by agonizing button, and he shucked the shirt and tie while she did, watching her undress greedily. She sat up, sliding out of her shirt and bra gracefully, and then Laura spared at glance at Tom's crotch.

"Take off your pants," she ordered softly.

"Leave the shoes on," he said, following orders as Laura took off her trousers and then slowly slid backwards.

"Do we have any jam?" she asked.

"Next time," Tom promised, kneeling down next to her and palming the outside curve of her breast. She was warm and he was starving. "Now, let's see..."

His mouth found the spot between her breasts while his free hand traced a lazy spiral from her belly button. Laura whimpered and Tom immediately shifted downward, kissing a slow line down.

"More," Laura said. "Oh, gods, more."

"Mmm," he said, enjoying the spectacle before him, running his hands up and down her body. "Already?"

His fingertips slipped between her thighs, testing, brushing by and earning a choked moan. Tom chuckled and lifted his hand to his mouth, sucking each fingertip clean.

"Tom, damn it," Laura hissed.

"Pushy, pushy, pushy," Tom chided, his fingers dipping in again, starting a slow in-and-out. "How's this?"

She whimpered, glaring at him. He added a third finger but maintained the slow pace, ignoring the breathing and the whimpers.

"More?" he asked.

"Faster," she said.

"I don't rush things," he said, changing angles. "How about this?"

He leaned down and kissed, blowing on her while his fingers kept moving. Laura wailed, and Tom felt the inner shudder against his fingers.

"You like that," he said, leaning over again, and flicking with his tongue. Not very often -- once every count of ten, until Laura's hips were practically flying off the bed. "Say it."

"Tom."

"Not what I need," he said and licking it again. "You enjoy giving orders. I enjoy dragging those orders out of you. We both win."

"I'm going to get you for this..." she panted.

"I know," he said, doing it again. "Gods, I can feel how wet you are. How hot. You must be ready to pop like a bottle of champagne. If only you'd say the word."

"Go to hell," Laura hissed, pumping hips undercutting the anger and sincerity in her vocal tongue. "Keep going. Keep doing that with your tongue. Now."

Chuckling with triumph, he did, bringing her over for the first time with three rough licks. She moaned wordlessly, back arching in ecstasy.

Tom liked that, though not as much as the way her legs closed around his head as he withdrew his fingers.

"Again," she said hoarsely. "With your mouth now. Oh, gods, like that."

Those, Tom decided as he set to his goal of making Laura Roslin scream his name when she came for the third or fourth time, were good orders. Ones he could follow in good conscience as a citizen -- they all needed the president in good condition -- and as someone who enjoyed watching the woman slowly but surely give in.

Someone liked being frakked silly, and every moan, every thrust, every shudder, was giving Tom all kinds of information about Laura. The kind a thousand spies couldn't duplicate, and he got to do all sorts of wicked things to a beautiful naked woman.

Laura moaned as Tom worried at her swollen, soaking wet flesh with his tongue mercilessly, the pressure of her thighs against his head hotter than the seven hells. She was already close and he hadn't even begun to torment her. Tom could get used to frakking Laura if she was this responsive and...well, hell, she was fun to frak already and they hadn't even gotten started.

Definitely good orders.


End file.
